


those thighs, they tell a story

by kasuchans



Series: down in the knees, works with the body [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Explicit Consent, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Sex Pollen, Teasing, sex pollen but not in a dubcon sense don't worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasuchans/pseuds/kasuchans
Summary: Yuzuru puts a hand on the side of Shoma's neck, and suddenly Shoma can't feel anything else."You are really warm," he says. “Should we get Mihoko?""No." It's not even a possibility in Shoma's mind. Mihoko doesn't feel like she'll put out the raging fire running through his veins. Yuzuru does.





	1. Chapter 1

Shoma’s never really been a fan of the banquets. Yeah, it’s fun to see his friends, minus the kids and Yuzuru, get tipsy, and they’re all pretty good dancers, but there’s the constant presence of the judges breathing down his neck, and he can’t really feel relaxed when he has to worry about keeping up appearances. Besides, he’d rather be at home playing games, but Mihoko’d said he should try to “look social” if he wanted the judges to score him nicely, so here he is. It’s not bad, not really, and he’s taking advantage of Finland’s drinking age to have some free champagne.

The night improves after a few glasses, as alcohol is wont to do. Maia and Alex pull him into one of their videos, and he ends up in Misha’s Instagram story, thankfully not the drunkest person in the frame. He can see Yuzuru talking to Javier on the other side of the room. He can’t tell if Yuzuru’s playing with his hair out of modesty—after the medal ceremony, the high seemed to have abated, and he’d been wandering around the Team Japan room in a bit of a daze—or if he’s flirting. Probably flirting. He tries not to think on it much, really. Yuzuru always flirts with Javier, and he doesn’t even have the excuse of being drunk. Yuzuru laughs, tucking his bangs behind his ear, and Shoma grabs a glass off of the nearest tray without looking. It’s bitter. Fitting.

Whatever. He’s been at the banquet for a few hours, and he’s definitely put in enough schmoozing for the event. The room’s spinning, and he ends up being walked to the door by someone who he can’t quite recognize, but who looks a little like Adam and sounds a lot like Adam when he laughs, so it’s probably Adam. Somehow, he finds his room—and god bless Mihoko, really, for writing his room number in giant Sharpie lines on his keycard, which she’d stuck to the back of his phone so he wouldn’t lose it—and goes inside, throwing himself face-down on the bed. Blissful, blissful sleep.

It doesn’t come. He lies like that for several minutes, and normally he’d be able to fall asleep without even taking his shoes off,  but he can’t. His clothes feel kinda sticky, he must have sweated more than he thought, and his shirt is hot around his neck. Even his necklace feels scratchy. Rolling onto his back, he kicks off his shoes and undoes his fly, tugging his tie loose enough to slip over his head. Fuck formalwear, fuck slacks, and definitely fuck button-up shirts. It’s too hot, too much fabric, he can’t seem to get the stupid buttons through the stupid holes, why the fuck won’t anything work right, his hands are shaky, his fingers wobbly, his knees feel like they’re going to give on him like a bad landing and _he isn’t even standing up_. Honestly, what’s the point? He’s just going to wake up and take a very cold and unpleasant shower so he can drag himself to meet up with Mihoko. Might as well just stay there and pass out.

God, he wishes he could sleep. He can’t. Fumbling for his phone, he checks the time—or tries to, at least, but the screen is swimming, colors blurring the lines of the clock together and ugh, he can’t be fucked to deal with this right now, he can tell it’s late, the sounds of skaters going back to their rooms having swelled and quieted outside his door. Damn, maybe his room’s the issue, maybe there’s something wrong with the thermostat. He could ask someone for help, but as he flicks through people in his head, he doesn’t feel right calling any of them; Keiji would help him out, but he doesn’t want to wake him up like this, Satoko’s probably all responsibly showered and face-masked up, and Yuzuru’s...

Yuzuru. He wasn’t drinking, and he tends to stay up late. Maybe he can help. That doesn’t seem like such a bad option, doesn’t make his stomach curl up in embarrassment like the idea of calling Mihoko in this state does. And, if he remembers correctly, Yuzuru’s room is just down the hall.

Somehow, he’s able to drag himself to what he’s fairly certain is Yuzuru’s door, he can hear footsteps inside and thank god no voices, he was really hoping this wasn’t one of those nights where Yuzuru and Javier stay up way too late talking about whatever, so he gets a hand up to knock. Or, well, bang once, messily. His hand isn’t really cooperating with him.

“Shoma?” It’s Yuzuru, so he wasn’t wrong, and his stomach unclenches a bit at the sight of him. Yuzuru’s hair is damp and sticking up at the top, and his shirt is sticking to his skin at the shoulder, and Shoma suddenly feels very warm and very, very unsteady. “Whoa, Shoma. Are you okay? I saw you drinking tonight.” Looking at Shoma with a tilted glance, he says. "Your eyes... Are you okay?"

“Couldn’t sleep. Tried to, but. Couldn’t.”

Yuzuru puts a hand on the side of Shoma's neck, and suddenly Shoma can't feel anything else.

"You are really warm," he says. “Should we get Mihoko?"

"No." It's not even a possibility in Shoma's mind. Mihoko doesn't feel like she'll put out the raging fire running through his veins. Yuzuru does.

"Okay." Yuzuru says. He stares, as if expecting something more. So Shoma tries. It’s hard to explain, really, the thought process that had led him to Yuzuru’s door in the middle of the night, but he manages to get out something about his room being too hot and needing another person, and whatever it is, it worked, because Yuzuru opens the door wider and lets him in, guiding him to the bed with a hand in between his shoulder blades. It’s a very warm hand. This room is warm, too, he thinks, but it’s different, less suffocating, and he buries himself in the blankets while Yuzuru goes into the bathroom. When he comes out, Shoma’s nearly asleep. His brain feels like a cloud, low on the horizon, and he feels rather than hears Yuzuru say something about the bed, but he’s not getting out of it for anything, so he just makes a low sound and rolls to face the middle while Yuzuru climbs in and turns out the lights. Maybe, at last, he can finally sleep.

*

He wakes up feeling worse than he’s ever felt before. It’s not a hangover, there’s no drum beat against the inside of his forehead, but his body feels hot. The windows are dark, the room is silent, and Shoma can hear his breath against the sheets. Yuzuru’s breath is low and steady, a few inches away. God, his skin is so warm, he wants to crawl out from inside of it, wants the coolness of the ice, wants—he doesn’t know what it is, really, but he _wants_. He rolls onto his stomach, the mattress providing a calming pressure against his body, it’s soothing and his wrist brushes against Yuzuru’s and—shit.

That’s all there is, the brush of Yuzuru’s wristbones against his forearm, but what else is there? There’s his skin, acutely aware of the way Yuzuru’s skin is warm, but he feels the blood in his body rush to that single point of contact, he wants more, he wants to wrap himself around Yuzuru and leech his heat, he wants to feel everything. He wants all the things he steadfastly doesn’t let himself want.

Yuzuru blinks awake, and Shoma can just see his eyelashes flutter in the dark, can only tell his eyes from the scant reflections, but Shoma freezes, his arm still against Yuzuru’s. Yuzuru’s eyes dart down, then back, and Shoma, Shoma’s body is a question mark, bowing his head away from Yuzuru’s curious glance, his stomach opening and unfurling and wanting, and it’s all he can do to stay motionless.

“Shoma.” It’s not a question, but he feels as if he’s being examined anyway. “Shoma. What’s going on tonight?”

He thinks, and he thinks, and he realizes that somewhere between the first and the last glasses of champagne the answer to that question went out the window. “I don’t know,” he admits, half to himself. “I feel... odd. Warm. My skin is...” he struggles, fishing for the right syllables to string together to explain how his body has become a tightly wound spring of want. “It’s like my muscles are too loose, but they’re tight at the same time. Like I’ve started a spin and I can’t stop it and it’s getting faster. You want to keep going, but you don’t think you’ll land it.”

Yuzuru pushes himself up onto his elbows, lying on his side, and Shoma sees the moonlight carve out the curve of his collarbone in light and shadow. He wants to touch it. The desire isn’t new, if he’s being honest, but so nakedly wanting it is.

Then he reaches out with one hand, his fingers just touching Shoma’s shoulder, and the room goes cold. The air is too cold and his skin is too warm and Yuzuru’s fingers are warmer still, a flame he feels through the stiff fabric of his shirt, almost burning, and he _hisses_.

“You okay?” Yuzuru asks, his finger rubbing a small circle on Shoma’s shoulder that tickles, just this side of _not enough more please_ _god more_ , and he wants to say something, ask, beg, but he can’t, he can’t bring himself to do so, so he just turns his face down into the pillow and _oh_ , sweet friction, he doesn’t want to but he does so he presses his hips into the mattress and whines, climbing up from the back of his throat with every movement of Yuzuru’s fingers, digging just a bit deeper and moving just a bit slower, hands clenched in the sheets as he tries not to move, not to let his hips rut, and he hears Yuzuru’s breath hitch in a muted gasp.

“It’s,” he says, mouth full of pillow, “it’s not bad.” Which, understatement of the fucking century, but he doesn’t want to tell Yuzuru that he could probably come from this, given enough time, drawn out long and tight like a Biellman and god, no, he doesn’t want to think about skating right now, doesn’t want to think about the slick-smooth glide of the blades and the ease and flow and _oh_ , _okay_ , that’s Yuzuru’s face _way_ too close for comfort right now, right at the edge of his vision.

“What happened to you?” he says, a whisper against the curve of his neck, each syllable making his hair tickle against his skin which, again, _not helping_ , and he mutters something about drinking a lot, something about the room and his shirt and it doesn’t make any sense, he knows this, knows it and can’t stop the words from pouring out of him, anything to _keep Yuzuru’s fingers moving, dammit_. Then they go maddeningly still, and it hurts so much that he adds “andnowI’mreallyhornyandthisfeelsreallygoodwhythefuckdidyoustop” in a rush of breath.

“Ah.”

He hasn’t moved his hand back, his lips inches away and lightly gleaming in the scant moonlight. Shoma wants to kiss them. They look soft. Smooth. They look—

"Shoma."

"What?" It snaps him back, back down to the world, back down to the hotel bed and the way their limbs are still splayed in a mock display of ease, as if the air hasn't become weighted in the past several minutes.

"What." Yuzuru's voice is unsteady. Shoma doesn't like it. It doesn't suit him. "What do you need, then?"

God, he really wishes there were a fan on in the room, or a heater, or anything, really, so that the silence wouldn’t be so stifling. He can hear Yuzuru breathing and the blood rushing through his veins and the slight scratches of his fingers against the sheets, and he’s using every ounce of muscle control drilled into him to not move his hips against the bed because he knows every shift would be audible to them both, and as humiliating as this already is, he really doesn’t want to hump Yuzuru’s bed like a fucking animal.

“Is this,” and Yuzuru pauses, just long enough for Shoma to tilt his head further back, “better?” Then his fingers are moving again, running down his shoulder and back up his nape, firm pressure, almost comforting, like he’d done earlier that night on the podium, only then it wasn’t laced with his wantwantwant and Shoma squeezes his eyes shut and _squeaks_ because it feels so, so good he could melt into it. He could lie here and let Yuzuru knead at the base of his neck but he won’t, he won’t, he can have more self control than this, so he opens his eyes and resolutely lifts himself halfway off the bed with his forearm, bringing him face-to-face with Yuzuru.

“Much,” he says, dragging his eyes in a slow line from Yuzuru’s lips, bitten at the corners, up his nose and cheeks, the shadows casting him in shades of gray, to his eyes, where he holds his gaze resolutely. Fucked as he is, fucked as he had been long before this, really, he’s not going to be shy now when he’s rock-hard against the bed.

And Shoma might not always have the best muscle control, might have spent it all on edges and knee bends hours earlier, but he swears he can feel his own pupils dilate. Yuzuru’s eyes are darkdarkdark, wet and wide-open, and neither of them moves, their noses nearly touching. It’s warm. Heavy. Like the air just before a summer storm, when everything feels thick and hazy like moving through honey and vinegar, like the steam above a grill or the times he’s climbed under a kotatsu in the depths of winter, liquid that sticks to his skin and it’s taking every ounce of his concentration to not move because he wants he needs it’s too much too much not enough more—

Yuzuru’s lips are warmer still.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then Yuzuru stops, stares at him with dark eyes, wet and blank, and Shoma feels everything in the air snap.
> 
> Fuck hiding. Fuck running. That’s not what he needs now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a chapter 2? Yes, on occasion I actually continue my WIPs.
> 
> Major thanks to [shhhhhhhhbimil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shhhhhhhhbimil/pseuds/shhhhhhhhbimil) for beta-ing this chapter!

If pressed later, Shoma would describe the sound Yuzuru made against his lips as a cross between a squeak and groan. If pressed later, Shoma would agree that it was 100% an awful idea and he really wasn't sure what had compelled him to do it. If pressed really really hard, Shoma would eventually, possibly admit that he knew exactly what had been compelling him to do it, that he’d been fighting it for well over a year, and that the erection digging into the mattress was only part of the equation.

This was not later. This was now. 

And now Yuzuru is pulling away, but not fast. Slowly, like through water, or fog, or smoke. And Shoma is trailing after him like a shadow, his lips tugged forward as Yuzuru pulls back, his lips chapped and his tongue dry, chasing Yuzuru’s mouth. He wants—he _wants_. Finally, he accepts it, admits it. He wants and has wanted Yuzuru in every moment, in every way. It washes over him with a strange sense of clarity. 

Then Yuzuru stops, stares at him with dark eyes, wet and blank, and Shoma feels everything in the air _snap_. 

Fuck hiding. Fuck running. That’s not what he needs now. 

He leans himself onto one arm, the other coming up to tangle in the still-damp hair at the back of Yuzuru’s neck, pulling their faces together again. And if the first kiss had been light, almost chaste, this one is not. Shoma licks at the seam between Yuzuru’s lips until he opens, tongue coming to meet Shoma’s, licking into his mouth hot and wet and needy. He needs so much more. Yuzuru’s hands finally, _finally_ dig into the spot between his shoulders, pulling him sideways until he lands on top of Yuzuru, his legs scrambling for purchase, one coming between Yuzuru’s thighs. His cock is tight in his pants, he wants to press down, wants Yuzuru’s heat against his, he wants and he _wants_. Yuzuru’s mouth tastes like mint and sugar, sticky-sweet against the buzz of his own and he needs all he can get. 

“Mm—” Yuzuru says, pulling away from Shoma, his face flushed and no, please no, he can’t be stopping now, not when he’s been pulling him down this path since they woke up, since he’d opened the damn door, _fuck_. 

“Shoma,” he says, then again, with slightly more force behind it, “Shoma.” 

He sighs. “Yuzuru?”

“Are you—is this—are you okay?”

And god, _yes_ , of course this is okay, it’s more than okay, he’s pressed against Yuzuru from collarbone to calf, too much clothing between them and it’s still not enough. “Yeah, I’m fine, just—”

“No.” Yuzuru lets go of Shoma, bringing his hand between them to push against his chest. “Shoma. Is this what you want?”

Shoma looks into his eyes, into the shining dark and he sees something beyond the hint of arousal, and _there_ , that’s his chance.

“Yuzuru,” he says, tongue catching and rolling around every syllable. “Yes.” And once more for good measure, he says, “I want this.”

Then the corners of Yuzuru’s mouth curl up. His eyes widen. He wraps around Shoma again, hand on his back low and heavy, pulling him down. Their mouths crash together with a wave of heat, rolling over his spine and through Yuzuru’s fingers pressing into him. Shoma brings his hand from the base of Yuzuru's neck to curl below his jaw. His thumb digs into the soft spot under his chin, fingers wrapping around his neck and Yuzuru tilts his head back, his neck milky and supplicating under Shoma’s hand. Yuzuru’s breathing into Shoma’s mouth, little gasps that go straight to his cock. He sucks on Yuzuru’s bottom lip and teases it with his teeth, chasing the whines it elicits.

Yuzuru’s hand on his back is good, god yes it’s good, but Shoma needs more. So he drags himself upright, leaning back on his knees and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks.

Yuzuru responds by wriggling himself up on the bed, reaching out to the collar of Shoma’s shirt, folding it back down and smoothing it. His fingers go to the first button still done, one finger hooking inside to push the button out through the stiff hole. His knuckle grazes Shoma’s sternum, a flashing hot stroke down his skin. He _hisses_.

“Fuck,” he whispers, one hand landing on the pillow above Yuzuru’s head as he leans forward, Yuzuru’s fingers still struggling with the button. “Just—already, please.”

Yuzuru finally gets the button undone, popping it through the slit and moving to the next, dragging his finger down Shoma’s chest. The shirt rubs against the sensitive skin of his nipples, each tiny movement agonizingly sharp—he’s never been this sensitive before, never felt arousal carve its way through him like this, but now every breath is like fire in his lungs. The next button comes free easier, and the next, Yuzuru’s hands making their way down Shoma’s chest until they open the last button, stroking against his lower stomach so close _so close_. His shirt finally opens and hangs loose, framing Yuzuru’s head. The air hits his chest, chilly and empty, and he’s so cold, the only warmth coming from Yuzuru’s thigh nestled between his legs. He rocks down onto it, his cock straining against his pants, and Yuzuru’s face falls slack, lying back onto the pillow and watching with parted lips as Shoma grinds onto his thigh, rucking up Yuzuru’s pajama pants. _Fuck_ , it’s good, the hard muscle against his cock, chasing that feeling, slamming his other hand onto the bed so he can lean forward. Yuzuru’s eyes glaze watching him, darting from his face to where their bodies meet. He can feel himself thrumming, holding his bottom lip between his teeth like a tether, his hips moving deeper, swaying further with each roll, tension building in his lower stomach. The feeling of body heat is new and overwhelming, _god_ he has wanted Yuzuru for so long; every kiss with every faceless body, every time he pulled back because he couldn’t, he couldn’t use somebody else to sate his desire for long limbs and lean sinew and Yuzuru’s eyes, lidded into slits as they watch. He can feel his stomach tightening, the feeling familiar from every time he’s ever touched himself, trying to think of videos he’d seen or photos in magazines instead of black athletic fabric stretched over tight shoulders, but now he’s speeding towards the cliff and Yuzuru is standing at the edge of it, his fingers coming to rest on the ridge of his hips. His fingers stroke lightly, a hummingbird’s touch on the edge of his skin, he wants to crawl into the sensation and stay there forever, wants to live in the feeling of Yuzuru’s fingertips on his skin, Yuzuru’s thigh between his legs, Yuzuru’s—

Yuzuru’s tongue against his abdomen, a long slow stripe, wet and hot and rough, and Shoma’s mouth falls open, a high cry breaking itself from the back of his throat, and he presses once, twice into Yuzuru’s thigh and comes.

He comes down hard, breathing like he’s just finished a free, arms slackening on either side of Yuzuru’s head before giving out completely. He lands with his face buried in the crook of Yuzuru’s neck, mouthing wetly at the curve of his trapezius, and he feels Yuzuru shudder. One arm comes to wrap around him, rubbing circles into the base of his back that send aftershocks through his skin.

“Shoma,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “Shoma, you—”

“Shh.” He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to know what he looked like, chasing his own release on Yuzuru’s warmth. He doesn’t need to be reminded of how badly his brain is stuck right now, on sex and sweat and skin, the stickiness in his pants cooling unpleasantly.

Yuzuru exhales, brokenly. “I don’t fully understand what’s happened to you,” he says, each word measured and slow, “but I’m not upset. I just want to make sure this was okay by you.”

Shoma laughs, a huffed breath into Yuzuru’s neck, and he gets a shiver in response. “Yeah, it was, I just—I need. A lot. Dunno, I just... need.” And he still does, too. As the buzz of the afterglow abates, he can feel it creeping back, prickling at the edge of his consciousness. Desire. Pure desire. His cock begins to harden again, and he rolls over onto his back, linking one hand with Yuzuru’s as he pulls the other over Yuzuru’s neck and collarbones before coming to rest on his heaving chest. He turns his head to look at Yuzuru, who has done the same, before closing his eyes against the inquisitive gaze. “Still kinda... need. More. That was good, but—”

“So that was good?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “Definitely good, but like, not enough?”

“Still?”

He opens his eyes, glancing down at his tenting dress pants, now dark and damp which, _ew_. “Uh... yeah?”

“You could,” Yuzuru says, rolling back onto his side so he’s facing Shoma, “tell me what you like?” He reaches out with the hand not supporting his head, stroking it along Shoma’s torso, skating from the bottom of his stomach to middle of his chest where he splays his fingers wide. “What feels good?” One finger brushes a nipple, and Shoma bucks up, one hand tightening in the fabric of the pillow.

“Nn, Yuzuru—”

“How you like,” he continues, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips, rolling his hand over his nipple before coming down to toy with the waistband of his pants, “to be touched?” One finger slips inside and strokes back and forth over the top of his boxers. He can feel him, so close to his cock but only just, and his hips jerk.

“Yuzu—please, I—”

“Tell me, Shoma,” Yuzuru continues, and his face breaks into a grin that makes Shoma’s spine tingle, “what gets you off?” His finger ducks lower, pressing through cotton at the base of Shoma’s dick, _fuck_ , his dick is burning hot and he just wants Yuzuru to give him more, more heat, more friction, he thrusts up against the pressure at the base just _please_.

But Yuzuru slows his hand, leaving it in place but no longer moving, and Shoma wants to scream. “Dammit, Yuzu, just—” He puts his own hand on top of Yuzuru’s, pressing it down onto his cock and _fuck_ that feels good, slim fingers rubbing him through the fabric of his boxers. Yuzuru’s fingers curl around his cock and that’s it, that’s what he wants. “Get me off, is what I want you to do, I’m not fucking picky. Just—that, okay?

Yuzuru falls back onto the bed as he laughs, tilting his head back and exposing his throat, and Shoma has a sudden and very strong urge to bite it. He can see it in his head, crescent-shaped bruises marring the creamy skin, visible just above the neck of his costume, peeking out from under his track jacket. He wants the whole world to know that Yuzuru has someone who makes him writhe. He wants to make Yuzuru thrash against his hips and see the face he makes when he comes. He wants _Yuzuru to keep moving his hand on his fucking cock_. Then Yuzuru gets his entire hand under Shoma’s boxers, and he gasps.

“Wow,” Yuzuru says, keeping a slow pace as he moves his hand back and forth. “So simple?” It’s rough, only a bit, but his hand is tugging his foreskin along, over the head of his dick and back down, and it’s _Yuzuru’s_ hand on his cock, holy shit. Yuzuru is actually jerking him off. He bucks up, thrusting into his fist. Shoma’s hand is clenched tight on his thigh, but it feels like nothing compared to Yuzuru’s skin against him, and he can barely breathe.

“Please, Yuzu, please,” he says, half aware of what he’s saying, it doesn’t matter, he just needs to feel this. Yuzuru’s free hand comes to meet his, running his fingers lightly down the inside of his wrist in time with the torturously slow strokes along his cock. It feels like stretching, muscles pulled tight and screaming, from the pleasure shooting up from his groin to the sparks flying through his forearm, he doesn’t want to come, he doesn’t want this to end, it’s so much better than he ever could have imagined, and he’s imagined it so many times but not like this, not with his skin singing hot and needy against his teammate’s every downstroke.

The contact disappears and Shoma whines, looking over to see what made Yuzuru stop. Then Yuzuru hooks both his hands into Shoma’s belt loops, and he’s not annoyed anymore. Moving to sit on his haunches at Shoma’s hip, Yuzuru tugs his boxers down. Shoma kicks them off, grimacing at the cooled wetness,  before spreading his legs and bending his knees. One of his hands finds its way between Yuzuru’s folded legs, tucked between his calf and his thigh.

“Don’t stop now, god, I need you to—”

Yuzuru silences him with a finger against his lips before dragging it down, following the curve of his jaw, the hollow at the base of his neck, the flat of his sternum and the lines of his abdomen. The tip of his cock, where it plays lightly, tugging his foreskin back and stroking up the underside of his head. It feels like everything and nothing, the ghost of a kiss, and Shoma shivers. Yuzuru’s eyes haven’t left him either, staring intently at where he’s leaking pre-come onto his stomach. He walks his fingertips down Shoma’s cock, leaving footprints of heat with every movement. His fingers stroke the base of his shaft, run lightly over his balls. It’s too much everywhere but still not enough, and Shoma has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from asking, begging, he doesn’t want Yuzuru to stop again but _fuck_ , he needs more. His hips are vibrating with the effort it takes to not move, _dammit_ , move.

Then Yuzuru wraps his hand around him fully, moving from base to tip in a single stroke and sliding his thumb across the head through the wetness from his previous orgasm, and Shoma stops looking, his head falling back as he whimpers because it’s so good, Yuzuru’s fingers are slim and hot and wet, now, _fuck_ , Yuzuru’s fingers are covered in his own come. Yuzuru murmurs something, too quiet to hear but it’s soothing, and his free hand moves to stroke the inside of Shoma’s thigh. Everything narrows down to this, the hotel ceiling appearing and disappearing as he struggles to keep his eyes open, firm strokes along his cock, the sound of his gasps and the slick-side of Yuzuru’s hand in silence, the reassuring circles rubbed into his thigh. He’s close, so close, he can feel himself edging towards another orgasm with every stroke, every time the thumb twists over his tip, every time his foreskin tugs on the downstroke, and he begins to thrust upward into Yuzuru’s fist, rocking against his planted feet. There’s nothing else, just the feeling of wetness on his tip, warmth wrapped around his cock, he can feel Yuzuru’s gaze and he should be embarrassed about this, naked and wanting, but he doesn’t, he can’t, this is everything he needs right now, Yuzuru hasn’t missed a beat, matched his rhythm with every stroke, then Yuzuru does something with his hand and _twists_ and he’s gone, the sensation washing over him before he can say a word. He feels his cock pulse against the cage of Yuzuru’s fingers, his come landing on his chest, Yuzuru’s fingers digging deep into his thigh, and Yuzuru talks him through it, all soft whispers of “Shoma” and “yes” that worm their way through the haze of pleasure.

Slowly, it fades, and he brings his shaking legs down, his thighs tense and sore. His hands relax. He takes in heavy breaths, letting air replace the tightness in his chest, his come cooling sticky on his chest. The heat burning under his skin hasn’t cooled, but it's calmed somewhat, like the afternoon sun instead of the heat of midday. He hears rustling, and lifts his head off the pillow, wincing slightly. Yuzuru is peeling off his t-shirt, wiping at his right hand with a strange expression on his face.

“What?”

Yuzuru looks up at him. “Nothing, it’s,” he says, smiling a bit, “you came a lot?”

Shoma screws closed his eyes, falling back. “Uh, sorry?”

He hears Yuzuru laugh lightly. “No, no, it’s ok! It’s just... sticky.” He folds the shirt in half as he  leans forward, wiping it over Shoma’s chest.

“Hey, hey, you don’t have to—”

“I got it, it’s okay.” Yuzuru wipes the come off his chest with short, deliberate strokes. “Sit up?”

Shoma pushes himself back upon the bed until he leans against the headboard as Yuzuru finishes, throwing the shirt off the edge of the bed. Yuzuru joins him, their hips side by side. One of Yuzuru’s hands is resting on Shoma’s upper thigh, not teasing, not stroking. Just resting. It’s comfortable. He wonders what’s running through Yuzuru’s mind, if he’s thinking about him, if he’s thought about this before.

They breathe in unison, Shoma enjoying the blissed-out warmth.

“So, I take it you like handjobs?”

Shoma chokes.

“Oh, uh,” he says, shaking the hair out of his eyes. “I mean yeah, that was... good? Pretty obviously,” he says with a chuckle. “I mean, I kinda figured it would be hard for you to jerk me off badly?”

“You’d be surprised,” says Yuzuru, folding his free arm behind his head. “I guess you’ve been lucky.”

“Well...” He doesn’t want to make a deal of it, but he figures he should get it out there. “I haven’t exactly... done that with anyone.”

“You’re a virgin?” Yuzuru’s voice is a little sharper than he’d expected, he’d hoped, and he rushes to continue.

“Well, I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have chances. I did, I just kinda, stopped them before? Like,” he pauses, trying to keep himself from stumbling over his sentences, “I mean, I’m not now? Obviously. And it’s ok! I don’t really care about that stuff.” Which is a lie, he definitely cared, _cares_ , but he’s not going to tell Yuzuru about those, all the times he’d pushed the guys away, mumbled something about needing a break, not being into it, thinking of dark eyes and darker hair instead of whomever was with him. “But like, not really anymore. Like, this is cool. This is fine. And honestly, I don’t—this—I think this isn’t going to go away without it?”

Yuzuru pokes at his cock, still half-hard against his stomach. “I’m noticing that.”

“Look, I don’t get it either.”

“Maybe... I’m not as good at giving handjobs as I thought?”

“Huh?” Shoma turns his head quickly, only to see Yuzuru pouting, his lower lip plush and red. It’s adorable. “Oh, you’re joking.”

“You came, didn’t you?” Yuzuru wraps a hand around Shoma’s shoulder, pulling him close, and he leans his head on Yuzuru’s neck. It’s warm and smells like sweat. He shouldn’t like that so much, he thinks.

Yuzuru kisses his temple, rubbing it with the tip of his nose softly before pulling away, and a steady warmth blooms in Shoma’s chest. “It’s nice to know that I’m that good,” he says. “Or maybe... you just find me that sexy?”

Shoma elbows him in the ribs.

“Ok, ok! I know. Virgins always come fast anyway.”

“Fuck off.”

“I am sorry your first time is like this, though,” says Yuzuru, his voice going quiet. “It could have been... nicer?”

“It’s fine. Really.” He doesn’t want Yuzuru to feel bad, or to make a bigger issue out of this than it is. Which isn’t an issue. Honestly, doing it with Yuzuru is already better than he could have hoped. “Besides, I wanted this, right?”

“Yeah, but if I’d known it was your first time, I would have done it differently.”

“Like what?”

The cadence in Yuzuru’s voice changes, lighter and easy again. “Maybe lit some candles, found some rose petals to throw around. You know, romantic shit.”

Shoma gives an exaggerated sigh. “You watch too much anime.”

“Look who’s talking!”

He moves down until he’s lying on the bed again, and Yuzuru leans over him, kissing him, tongue probing his mouth at an easy pace. One of Yuzuru’s hands traces along his cheek, and Shoma closes his against the way it makes his skin flutter.

“Mm, too soft.”

The hand moves to his hip, tightening its grip, and his arousal returns. He moans into Yuzuru’s mouth and receives one in return.

“So, you’ve never had sex with anyone before this?” Yuzuru says, pulling away from Shoma’s lips, the words tangible on his skin.

“Nope.”

“And you don’t really have a preference for anything?”

“Not really, no.” He’s fingered himself before, and it’s fine, but usually he just jerks off. He’s not really sure it would feel the same with a partner, anyway.

Yuzuru smiles, wide and predatory, and Shoma feels something dark and uncomfortable uncurl deep in his gut.

  
“We’re just going to have to figure out what you _do_ like, then.”


End file.
